A Thousand Words
by rhymeless
Summary: Sometimes you just have to remember some things. Zero/X, implied Vile/X


They stood in comforting silence, neither one saying anything because words did not mean a thing, not to heroes. Heroes used actions, not words--perhaps, X mused, that was the reason it was easier to act than to think. Or perhaps because it caught peoples' attention in a way idle words could not. Actions, after all, could speak a thousand words.  
  
X was first to break the silence. "Do you think that's the end of it?" His voice was soft, as always, but especially now. The wind played with his already tousled hair as he leaned over the balcony. The effect was entirely melodramatic, but neither one cared.  
  
"I doubt it." Zero held one hand to shield his face from the wind--not because it was cold (coming out of another skirmish with a fire-based irregular made him appreciate the cold, anyway) but because it sent the short hairs that ringed his face into his eyes.  
  
Another defeat for the irregulars, another win for the irregular hunters. What was this, the sixth? Seventh? Eighth? He'd lost count. How long would this keep up? The tide of the war had turned in their favor. The hunters were winning, and as X's supernatural power continued to increase, they'd win the war for sure.  
  
They'd come a long way from being an unprepared, untrained bunch of scared and confused repliroids...  
  
Zero watched the lights of the city twinkle and change color. The white and red lights of cars passing by, the yellow-orange to red lights of street lamps, the bright yellow of people's homes. It reflected off his and X's armor, giving them a dull white-yellow glow, and bounced off the metal bars surrounding them. It would have been pretty if he had never seen the real world, had never seen the moon cast upon real plants and smelled real, fresh air...  
  
He sighed and turned, looking at his long-time friend and sometimes (friendly) rival. X was a thing out of legends, but he didn't look it--he was short, young-looking, with a child's curiousity and optimisim, and an adult's maturity and self-control. He was composed, calm, green-blue eyes watching the cars passing by aritifical trees while their drivers yelled at each other through their cell phones... Watching people hurrying home, although it was far past sunset, children being called inside, the city being tucked into bed and whispered "good night."  
  
X wasn't handsome--he had a plain face and uncontrollable hair just like his predecessor. A child's face, really--he didn't look any older than fifteen. He had a snub nose and dimples, and while some people might like that in a partner, Zero didn't. X's beauty, if it could be called that, radiated from within. He had not the "intelligence" or "prowess" of the other warriors, despite his potential being limitless... but it was his desire to help others for the sake of helping, and the way he wanted to solve all the world's ills, that made him attractive.  
  
And maybe even the depression when he found out that he couldn't save everyone single-handed. It was sweet, in an innocent, child-like way. Although Zero knew from experience X was anything but innocent--thirty years, watching the troops who trusted you with their lives suffer and die, with you powerless to do anything, tended to do that to one, after all.  
  
X ran a hand through his hair, not noticing Zero's scrutiny. "I wish I could do more," he said, quietly, his Japanese accent blurring the words. "But all I can do is fight, and stall him until someone figures out how to get rid of him." He smiled wryly. "We used to play backgammon, do you remember that? No," he added, before Zero could intervene, "you weren't there then." He sighed wistfully and padded back into their apartment, looking old, tired, and harried.  
  
"I remember when /he/ came." What bitter feelings Zero had about X's former lover had gone, or at least he'd mastered them. Few actually knew that X had had a lover, let alone another man, but X told him everything. Some things he didn't want to know.  
  
"Oh yes, him." X flopped down onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. Zero was content to lean against the wall. "Isn't it funny, fighting people you used to joke with? People you'd have food fights with in the mess hall? I guess other people go through it often, their friends going irregular an' all." Zero shrugged. "He used to pinch me and call me a silly clunch. We'd start food fights in the cafeteria, and he's smush apple pie into my face while I got oranges in his hair. We'd sit and play chess on cold, rainy days and he'd always win because I kept angsting about the mavericks and my duty to humanity. Then he went crazy. And I killed him." Zero shrugged again. "Are you listening to me?"  
  
"No." He smiled.  
  
X smiled back. "I didn't think so."  
  
Zero lay on the bed next to him, ruffling his hair. X mock-scowled at him, then leaned into him. He liked these tender moments, when they forgot about being macho, manly heroes of war and could just be themselves. No one was here to watch them; there was no one they had to prove themselves to, and no one to hide their love--brotherly or not--from.  
  
They need not admit to themselves or each other that they loved them. Actions, after all, speak a thousand words. 


End file.
